


on a road to nowhere (together)

by GuenVanHelsing



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Actual Baby baby yoda, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Din Djarin is a Disaster, Hitchhiking, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Protective Din Djarin, Road Trips, Sharing a Room, Whump, sadly there were two beds, shopping together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28444947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuenVanHelsing/pseuds/GuenVanHelsing
Summary: On the run from a shadowy past and doing his best to care for the child he gave it all up for, Din Djarin never intended to pick up a hitchhiker on his way to a new life.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 27
Kudos: 181
Collections: Covert Discord New Years Fic Exchange





	on a road to nowhere (together)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blxcksqvadron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blxcksqvadron/gifts).



> my submission as part of the Covert gift exchange for the lovely beau-katan <3 hope you enjoy!

Din looked into the backpack he’d shoved onto the floor of the passenger seat, and sighed. Only one jar of baby food left, and the kid was  _ always _ hungry. Plenty of diapers, at least, for now. He glanced into the backseat, where the car seat was, where the kid in question was yawning himself awake and blinking sleepily at Din, mouth pursed as he rubbed tiny fists to his eyes. 

“Hey, kid,” said Din softly. “Good nap?” The child blinked at him, sighing a big baby sigh, and Din hurriedly extracted himself from his seat so he could get out and move around to the back of the car, unbuckling the straps so he could lift the kid out of the car seat. “Just a short pit stop, okay?” 

The gas station he’d chosen wasn’t much more than a pair of gas pumps and a tiny ‘convenience’ store inside that sold mostly cigarettes and a sad-looking display shelf of Wonderbread beyond the coffee machine — one pot, marking  _ hot _ in big letters, with no other identifying information — and a couple shelves of mediocre snacks. 

And, blessedly, a basket of fresh bananas and apples right at the front counter. 

“You like fruit, right, kid?” muttered Din, and the child grasped loosely at the front of his jacket, peering around with interest as Din walked. There were only a couple other people in the place besides the bored attendant in a red shirt who looked like he was barely out of high school — and older fellow with wavy grey hair puttering around near the back, and a woman who looked like she was three days overdue for a good long nap who was gathering up one of each of the jerky flavours. 

Din didn’t want to live a life of jerky and chips until he got to Peli’s, but if he had to keep feeding the kid from convenience shops, he wasn’t going to be able to afford to eat anything else. 

The child reached up and grabbed a handful of his hair, and Din sighed. “Don’t yank,” he muttered, searching through the aisles for what he wanted. So he could be done and  _ leave. _

Five minutes later, standing in the checkout line behind the woman, Din tried not to drop his handful of snacks, balancing the kid against his shoulder. The kid babbled something, hands smacking Din’s shoulder, and he turned his head, mouth opening to warn the kid to knock it off. 

The words died in his throat. 

The  _ ‘older fellow’ _ was standing behind them, his own purchases in hand, and while his hair was silver, his face looked only a bit older than Din’s own, a deep red scarf around his neck, dusty from the road. 

_ And _ he was making silly faces at the kid, who had burst into pleased giggles. Caught in the act, the man offered a sheepish smile to Din. “Cute kid,” he said, with just a hint of Southern in his voice. 

Din forced a smile back, feeling like it was more of a grimace. “Thanks.” He looked away quickly, not wanting to prolong the conversation, and since the woman had left, he dumped his items on the checkout counter. 

Five dollars and change, and after that Din was going to have to dig into the cash in the trunk of his car. 

He hadn’t thought he’d burn through what he had so  _ soon. _

The kid, at least, was appeased by a banana, which Din peeled — and picked off the annoying stringy bits — before handing pieces to the kid one by one to eat. He even took a moment to toss the peel into the garbage bin by the door, instead of the ground, when he saw the silver-haired man walk past, backpack slung over his shoulder and a jacket tucked into one of the straps swinging with every long-legged stride. Wouldn’t want to seem like a littering jerk, someone who would be remembered. 

Din wiped his banana-y hands on his pants, and got back into his car. 

Still a long way to go before the night came. 

“You ready to get back on the road, kid?” he said, and the child babbled nonsense back at him, so he took that as a yes, guiding the car back out onto the road, toward the exit to get back to the highway. 

Turn, turn, stop sign, just a bit further...

A flash of red at the corner of his eye had him tapping on the breaks, glancing in the rear view mirror as he pulled up to the yield sign, hesitating. 

There, at the stop sign, was the silver-haired man, adjusting the red scarf around his neck, one hand held out in the familiar sign of all hitchhikers. 

Din pressed his foot to the gas pedal, but found it was the brake instead, the car stubbornly still, the cloud of fresh exhaust rising in the cool air. 

“This is stupid,” he said to the kid, who glanced at him briefly before returning to ignoring him for the window, and he looked in the mirror for a bit longer, at that stretch of road. At the truck creeping closer toward them, headlights only just flicking on. 

Din cranked the car into reverse, and swung it to the side of the road, two wheels spinning dirt as he backed it past the truck — the driver leaned on the horn and swerved, but kept driving past — and stomped on the brakes again. 

Took a deep breath, waited, gaze stuck straight ahead at the yield sign now a couple dozen feet away. 

Didn’t realise he’d stopped breathing until knuckles rapped on the passenger window of the car, and Din leaned over to yank up the lock, settling back into his seat with a sudden inhale as the door opened and the silver-haired stranger angled his long-limbed body into the seat. 

The door shut firmly, and the dusty backpack was settled at the man’s feet next to Din’s own bag. He hadn’t thought to move it. 

Din shuffled the car back into drive, edged it back onto the road. Back to the yield sign. Another hesitant breath. 

“Thanks for the lift,” drawled the stranger, and Din glanced at him, the curve of his smile tugging at lips that were as chapped as Din’s, probably from the wind and cold. 

Din kept his eyes on the road, forcing himself to ease the white-knuckled grip he had on the steering wheel. “No problem,” he said, hearing how stiff his voice sounded but unable to do anything to change it. “How far are you headed?” 

He heard the click of the seatbelt — good, he didn’t have to ask the man — and the scrape as the seat was shoved back a little bit to accommodate the man’s long legs. “However far you’re willing to take me,” said the stranger easily, and his voice was soft, settling in with the hum of the engine and the rumble of the tires on the road. “I’m Vanth.” 

_ Vanth _ didn’t offer any additional name, or info, so Din said, quietly, “Djarin.” 

He hadn’t gone by that name in a long time.

Even saying it felt like his mouth was filled with the dust of the past. 

A soft hum from the passenger seat as Din carefully switched lanes to get out of the way of a much faster-moving tractor trailer truck. “Djarin,” repeated Vanth, his voice warm. “The kid got a name?” 

Din hesitated. “No,” he said, and kept his gaze on the traffic. 

“Huh,” said Vanth, and Din heard the rustle of his clothes as he shifted in his seat. “Hey, sprout, you havin’ fun back there?” 

The child giggled, and Din guessed that the silver-haired man was pulling faces at him again. A quick glance confirmed it, just as Vanth’s face cleared into a warm smile again looking at the kid, one arm resting on the seat back for balance, before he turned, sliding back into his seat, and Din jerked his gaze back to the road. 

“You can turn on the radio, if you want,” he said, and his grip on the wheel was too tight again. “I’m not— much for conversation.” 

“‘s alright with me,” said Vanth, and out of the corner of his eye Din saw him lean forward to fiddle with the knobs on the dashboard. 

The twangy pop of new country music spilled out, and Vanth made a soft noise low in his throat before the radio hissed with static as he tuned it, gentle classical music crackling through, then a talk show with raucous voices that made the child make complaining noises from the backseat, until he settled the dial on some sort of soft jazz. 

“That’s good,” he managed, and Vanth sank back in his seat — his knees pressed against the dash, but he didn’t seem to mind too much. 

Neither of them said anything further, besides Vanth murmuring to the kid on occasion whenever a babble rose from the backseat. Din could keep an eye on the silver-haired man, twisting around in his seat to pick up the blankie the kid had dropped for him, or respond to illegible questions from the kid with a serious look on his face. 

It was— 

—nice. To have someone else in the car with them, hurtling along the road. Someone who had apparently taken upon himself to entertain the kid for hours on end, leaving Din to grip the steering wheel and keep them on course to— 

—somewhere. 

And it was one more layer of disguise — two men and a child in a car was a far cry from one man and a child on a motorcycle, and Din had left that and his helmet dumped on the side of the road several hundred miles back. 

He could keep moving, and the further he got, the looser the vise around his chest felt. 

Din saw a billboard, then another, then a lower, wide sign with several familiar logos painted onto it, and flipped on the signal to move into the furthest right-hand lane. A little too fast, apparently — Vanth leaned heavily into the seat with the motion of the car, and made a face, easing back into his seat proper. 

“Pit stop?” he said, one boot hitched up on the pocket of the door. There was a patch just up from his knee on the inside of his thigh, a slightly lighter green and the rest of the material. 

“Yeah,” said Din, and Vanth stayed quiet as Din drove them out of the exit and followed the signs until he pulled into the sprawling parking lot of a Walmart. 

Sitting there in the parking space, engine idling, Din looked up at the size of the building, at the people flooding in and out of the automatic doors, and he felt small. 

“Could do to pick up a few things,” said Vanth, almost lazily, and when Din cranked the key out of the ignition and glanced at him, he was rubbing a hand over his face. He looked at Din, and his eyes were dark, hazel, and Din had to look away quickly and get himself out of the car. 

“Hey, kid,” he muttered, unbuckling the straps so he could lift the kid from the car seat — by then, Vanth had unfolded himself from the car and stepped away from the door enough for Din to ease past him gingerly and dig his last wad of cash from his backpack, stuffing it into his pocket before shoving the door shut. “Won’t be long,” said Din, hoping it came across as a warning but hearing the question at the end of it instead, and Vanth shrugged, running a hand through his hair and looking up at the store building. 

“Let’s be fast, then.” Vanth headed across the parking lot, and Din hesitated only a moment before following him. 

Din promptly lost sight of the silver-haired man in the crowded interior, cuddling the child close as he walked as fast as he could without bumping into people. Only once he was standing in the long aisle of baby food products did he realise he’d forgotten to grab any sort of basket or cart to  _ put _ anything in, and his hands were full of the kid, anyway. 

He eyed the prices on the shelves, mentally calculating how much he could afford and what pictures of kids on the jars  _ looked _ as close in age to the kid as he could reasonably guess. 

Unless he made it to Peli’s within the next… two  _ days, _ given the kid’s eating habits, he was going to have to get into the money in the trunk. 

He really didn’t want to do that. 

Din hefted the kid up onto his hip to free up one hand, and reached for a promising looking jar on the shelf. “This looks like a fun meal, right?” he said, holding it up to show the kid, and his eyes fell on Vanth, who was moving purposefully down the aisle toward him. 

“Hey,” said Vanth, and there was a basket on his arm, already with a few items scattered in the bottom. Mostly non-perishable foods, not too much to carry — things Din would’ve bought, actually. “Toss that in here. Go ahead,” he added, when Din just stared at him, and Din carefully set the jar in the basket, next to Vanth’s things. “Apple cinnamon oatmeal, huh? Sounds good, kid, I’d eat that.” 

Din snorted. He’d  _ tried _ some of the foods, in an attempt to convince the kid they were good to eat, and so far none of them had been particularly appealing to him. 

“Your daddy’s maybe more of a  _ connoisseur,” _ drawled Vanth, raising one hand to gently bop the kid on the nose, who giggled and snatched at Vanth’s finger — he let him grab it in his tiny baby fist, grinning. “We stocking up on proteins while we’re at it, Djarin?” 

Din fixed his glower on the jars instead of on the man. Kids needed protein, right? That sounded right, anyway. A jar of chicken and pasta made its way into the basket, then a couple other protein-heavy varieties, and Din’s dwindling mental wallet chimed that he had enough for some fresh vegetables, if they weren’t too expensive. “Did you see where the produce was,” he said, and Vanth cocked an eyebrow at him, gently freeing his finger from the kid’s grasp. 

“Yeah, passed through it. This way.” Vanth’s basket bumped into his hip as he walked, and Din followed it, and him, through the store. The crowds. 

Vanth left him by the display of lettuce and other leafy green things, all of which were being lightly misted by automatic sprayers to keep them fresh. 

Din looked at the kid. 

The kid looked at him, one tiny fist in his mouth, gumming at his own skin. Drool was already working its way down into the cuff of his sleeve. 

“You like carrots, don’t you?” he muttered, and of course the kid didn’t answer. He smiled at Din when he held up some baby carrots — baby carrots were for babies, weren’t they? — so Din figured that was good enough endorsement for him. Carrots, and some fruit, there were some apples in a bag on sale, he could afford some, and that would be a whole range of foods for the kid for a little while. 

He’d have to book it to get to Peli’s, though. And find somewhere to drop Vanth before then, he supposed. 

Vanth. 

Who wasn’t  _ there _ when Din looked around, and he sighed, tucking the bag of carrots into his elbow and hooking the handle of the apple bag with his fingers, hoping he didn’t drop either of them. 

“Where did he get off to?” he wondered, and sighed again when the kid’s slobbery hand found its way into his hair. 

He really wanted a shower. 

Din wandered, for a bit, the damp bag of carrots soaking into his sleeve, the child’s hand in his hair. He found himself in the clothing department, standing in front of a display of hooded onesie pyjamas. 

The kid didn’t have any pyjamas. Din had checked the bag, again and again, and nothing inside was really for sleeping in. Just regular kids clothes. Normal stuff. He guessed. 

The kid reached out, his hand grasping at one of the onesies, one with long green ears sticking out from the hood, and Din turned on his heel, deftly lifting the kid away from the soft temptation. 

“Sorry, kid,” he whispered, and pressed a kiss to the side of the child’s head. Maybe Peli would have something suitable for sleeping in, somewhere in her vast basement of boxes. 

“There you are.” 

Din turned, startled, and there was Vanth, basket on his arm, and apple in his other hand. Din watched as he set it in the basket, absently, before gently easing the carrots from Din’s arm and depositing those into the basket, as well. 

“All set?” said Vanth, and Din noticed the tense set of his shoulders, the shifting from one foot to the other. 

Din nodded. “Self-checkout is by the door.” 

“Lead the way,” said Vanth, hefting up the basket, and Din made his way into the crowd. Vanth was gone, for a moment, then drew up beside him, a friendly smile offered to anyone who walked too close toward them and changed direction at the last moment, avoiding collision. 

The line was  _ packed, _ and in moments there were at least four other people crowded up behind them, standing too close for comfort, and Din forced himself to ease his grip on the child when he heard a soft whimper. 

He glanced at Vanth, a slouched pillar of calm in the midst of the chaos, and reached into his pocket. Dug out the cash, pushed it into Vanth’s chest — the silver-haired man barely caught it from dropping to the floor when Din jerked his hand away. 

“I’ll meet you at the car,” he said, and left the line. 

Left the store. 

Kept walking, right past his parked car, up over the curb stop onto the grassy median. It wasn’t a very long stretch of grass, littered in patches by candy wrappers and cigarette butts, and Din had paced the entire length of it about forty times by the time Vanth strode through the parking lot toward him with shopping bags in his arms. 

Din dug out his keys and went to the car so he could unlock it for him. He glanced at Vanth, wanting to apologise for bailing on him in the store, and Vanth was just calmly tucking the purchases onto the floor of the backseat, straightening again to step back from the door, left open so Din could put the child back into his car seat. Which Din did, of course, and by then his passenger was also seated again. 

Vanth dropped a handful of coins and a few bills into the cup holder in the middle console. “Your change,” he explained. He had his single apple in his hand, and the other had pulled a folded knife from some pocket, flicking it open — the blade was thick and tapered to a sharp point, and slid through the apple cleanly as he sliced it. 

Din started the car so he’d stop looking at Vanth’s hands. 

He didn’t say no when Vanth held out a slice of apple, crunching sweet between his teeth while the phantom brush of Vanth’s hand against his prickled on his hand, safely back on the steering wheel. 

Darkness wrapped around them rather quickly, and the kid was napping in the back every time Din caught a glimpse of him in the rear view mirror. Vanth was awake, but quiet, apple long gone and knife slipped away somewhere Din hadn’t been able to pinpoint. 

“You plannin’ on stoppin somewhere tonight?” said Vanth, his voice breaking through the low hum of the radio, which he’d tuned to a new station — alt rock this time — when the jazz one faded into static. It took a moment for Din to realise he’d  _ said _ something. 

“Yes,” he said. He hadn’t been. He would’ve kept driving until he was tired, probably, and— 

—he  _ was _ tired. The clock on the radio told him it was inching toward evening, and the kid would be waking up soon, wanting to eat. 

“Could spot us a hotel room,” said Vanth. “Wouldn’t mind a hot shower tonight, and a real bed. My treat.” 

Din hesitated. Glanced at the large green signs advertising rest stops flashing by in the dark, lit briefly by the headlight beams. 

A real bed would be nice. And somewhere to clean up the kid properly, get him into some clean clothes. 

Not something he could afford, a luxury he’d expected to put off until he reached Peli’s. 

“Okay,” said Din. 

Just one night. 

The hotel he found off of one of the exits wasn’t a big chain hotel or anything, but didn’t look  _ too _ expensive, and Vanth went into the lobby, backpack hooked over one shoulder, while Din stuffed a few things into his own backpack and gathered up the kid. 

He wrinkled his nose, shifting his grip on the kid. “Sorry,” he muttered, and glanced toward the smaller building Vanth had entered. “I’m not— haven’t really gotten the hang of this kid thing yet.” 

A gust of wind whipped through the parking lot, and Din turned his back to it, hunching his shoulders a bit in an effort to protect the child from the worst of it. He shivered. His jacket was still in the trunk, and he didn’t  _ have _ one for the kid. 

The soft jangle of keys broke through his thoughts, and Din turned to see Vanth returning, holding up two bright yellow keyrings with keys attached. “Got us the last double they had,” he said, sounding rather pleased with himself, and Din managed a smile at that. Hadn’t even crossed his mind what sort of arrangements Vanth would get for them. “All set?” 

Din nodded, and Vanth beckoned for him to follow him, heading along the long row of doors to whichever one matched his keys — number 17, it turned out, although the 1 was just a darker patch of paint beside the metal 7, having apparently fallen or pried off at some point. 

Vanth flipped on the lights, poking around the room for a bit before dropping his backpack onto one of the two flimsy folding chairs by the rickety-looking table. One keyring was left on the table, and the other Vanth slipped into his pocket, tugging on a pair of fingerless gloves. “Gonna take a walk,” he said, and Din startled. “Need to stretch my legs for a bit. Be back in a bit.” 

And he was out the door, the lock clicking shut softly behind him, before Din could respond. 

Alright, then. 

“Bath time for you, kid,” said Din, and into the bathroom they went. 

Thank fuck it had a big sink, set into the counter — plenty of space for Din to spread his hastily grabbed washcloths from the bathroom cupboard and the bottle of baby soap he’d picked up after the first bath hadn’t gone so well, and lots of space for water to splash when the kid, as usual, splashed around in the water and bubbles and got Din soaking wet. 

Good thing he hadn’t bothered to shower yet. 

Din grimaced, carefully rinsing the soap from the kid’s curly hair. Soap in the eyes — bad. Even he knew that. He hadn’t felt grimy until he was lifting the squeaky-clean kid from the sink to wrap in a fresh diaper and swaddle in a towel that dwarfed the kid. 

A knock at the bathroom door had him jump, and he spun, the child gasping at the sudden movement, reaching for his pocket and grasping empty air.

“It’s me,” came Vanth’s voice from the other side of the door, and Din let out a heavy breath. When he breathed in, he smelled something beyond the soap scent clinging to his nose that made his stomach rumble. “Forgot to ask before I left, hope you like burgers…? Hi,” he added, when Din opened the door, and the silver-haired man blinked at him. “You, uh. Take a shower with your clothes on, or something?” 

Din looked down at himself. Yeah, so his clothes were kind of soaked. He’d known that. 

His shirt was an off-white, though, and it was almost see-through where the water had it clinging to his chest. 

Din felt his face heat up, and he cleared his throat, hefting the child more securely up in his arms, and looked away. “I like burgers.” 

Cheeseburgers,  _ and _ fries, and Din waved away Vanth apologies that he hadn’t thought to ask whether dairy was okay, too busy wolfing down his burger before the kid could get his little hands on the bun — as it was, a few fries got stuffed into the kid’s mouth before Din could drop his burger back onto the wrapper and rescue them. 

“You don’t have enough teeth for those,” he said with a sigh, and the child just babbled something and patted at his face with one salty, sticky hand. “And you  _ were _ clean a minute ago.” 

“Never lasts,” said Vanth, leaning back in his chair until it creaked, long legs stretched out to the side of the table, licking sauce from his fingers, and Din had to look away quickly. “Want me to watch the sprout while you clean up?” 

Din risked a glance at him — at least the fingers were out of his mouth, and if he didn’t look at them, he couldn’t see the saliva-slick skin. “Yes. If you— don’t mind.” 

“Not a problem,” said Vanth, holding out his arms, and Din gingerly transferred the kid over to him — the kid got a firm grip on Vanth’s scarf, and he grinned. “Yeah, you know you’re cute, huh, kid?” He bounced the child on his knee, startling a giggle from the kid, and glanced at Din. “He hungry?” 

Din bit back a curse. Of  _ course _ the kid was hungry. He should probably feed him, first, in case it got messy— 

“You bring that stuff from the store in?” said Vanth, already rising from his chair. “I’m assuming you’ve got spoons and shit for him. Er. Stuff.” 

“In my— bag, yes,” said Din, voice faint. “I’ll just— feed him before I—” 

“I can do it, if you’re cool with that.” Vanth snagged the backpack from where Din had dumped and brought it back to the table, setting it on the floor next to Din. “Me and the sprout can handle some food, right, kid?” 

The kid giggled, grabbing Vanth’s finger when he held out his hand, and Din watched the smile on the silver-haired man’s face soften. 

“Okay,” he said. “I— he likes— airplanes. Doing the airplane thing. With the spoon.” 

Vanth’s grin widened. “Airplanes it is.” 

Din left Vanth with careful instructions on how  _ much _ to feed the kid that wouldn’t result in upset stomachs later, and Vanth with a spoon doing excellent impressions of a plane whooshing along toward the kid, who seemed  _ delighted _ by this, and Din took his bag and locked himself into the bathroom. 

Only then did he take a shaky breath, dropping his forehead to the door to close his eyes for just a moment. 

He didn’t know this man from Adam. Whether or not the guy was good with the kid was of no consequence — it wasn’t like Din would be keeping either of them, anyway. 

Din let out a slow breath, and pushed himself up from the door. Double-checked the lock, then stripped out of his clothes, dropping them to the floor and grimacing when the jeans folded stiffly — they were dirtier than he’d thought. 

The shower controls took him a minute to figure out, but eventually he got the hot water spraying down and stepped in. There were tiny bottles of complimentary soaps, and Din used half of each, not really much at all, but enough that he felt  _ clean _ for the first time in over a week, and there was some left for Vanth if he needed it. 

Din stood there under the hot water for an extra few minutes, just letting the heat soak into his bones and the water run over his skin. 

And then he stepped out of the shower, grabbing one of the clean towels to dry himself, and said,  _ “Fuck,” _ a little too loudly when he’d finished toweling off his hair, because he’d been so distracted by Vanth being cute with the kid that he’d forgotten to get his goddamn clean clothes from the car. 

And now he was naked, in the bathroom, and he didn’t have anything to wear, besides the towel he’d wrapped around his waist. 

There was a knock on the door, two quick raps. “Hey, you alright in there?” 

Din took another breath, feeling it hitch in his throat, and rested a hand on the door, palm flat to the thin wood. “I— uh. Forgot my clothes. In the car.” 

The ones he’d taken off were still in a messy pile on the floor, which he could  _ smell, _ now that he was clean. 

He couldn’t put those back on, he  _ couldn’t. _

And going out there in just a towel— 

“Ah, you left your keys on the table, I could grab them for you? They in the trunk?” 

“Yeah,” said Din. The door felt warm under his hand, now, although maybe he was just imagining things. 

“Hang tight,” said Vanth, and Din heard footsteps, the door opening and clicking shut. 

And then pure ice crept down his spine, and he slid to the floor, towel unraveling from his hips. 

_ The trunk. _

_ Vanth was going to open the trunk. _

“No,” whispered Din, and pushed himself up, bare feet sliding on the wet floor, snatching up his towel and fumbling with the lock, pushing on the door hard until he remembered it was a pull, and yanked the towel around his hips as he opened the door. 

Vanth was just closing the door to their room, Din’s duffel bag and the keys to the car in one hand and the child supported on his hip with the other. “Found it,” he said, perfectly calmly, like the duffel hadn’t had a blood-splattered jacket draped over it, or been next to a stash of weapons, some of which Din wasn’t even sure were unloaded. “Whoa, there, you alright?” 

Din stared at him. Frozen. 

The blood-stained jacket in question was draped over Vanth’s arm, tucked into his elbow. 

“Your, uh,” said Vanth, gesturing slightly with the duffel bag, “towel is slippin’.” 

Din looked down, and grabbed the towel with both hands before it slid right off his hips.  _ Christ. _

“Checked the weather, it’s gonna get cold,” continued Vanth, walking closer and lowering the duffel to the floor at Din’s feet, leaving the jacket over his arm and using both hands to heft up the child, a grin sweeping across his face as the kid giggled. “Figured you might want the jacket for later.” 

“Th-anks,” managed Din, freeing one hand from the towel to grab his bag, and retreated back into the bathroom. 

Thankfully he got the door shut all the way before he lost the battle with gravity and his towel slid onto the floor. 

He could hear Vanth talking to the kid, through the door, as he pulled on his last set of clean clothes. His voice was low enough Din couldn’t quite make out the words over the rustling of his own clothes and movements, not until he stepped out again safely clothed, and found the silver-haired man sitting at the table, the child on his lap and a paperback book in his hand. 

Vanth looked up from the book, lifting it out of reach of the kid’s questing fingers. “You good?” 

“Yeah,” said Din, and left his duffel on the floor next to Vanth’s bag, reaching for the kid, and Vanth moved his arms so Din could pick up the child. “Hey, kid. Have fun?” 

The kid grabbed at his hair, still damp from the shower, and tugged. Vanth grinned, dropping his book into his bag, and stood. “He’s been a good sport,” said the silver-haired man. “You leave me any hot water?” 

“I— maybe,” said Din, and bit back a smile. “Just a little.” 

“Thanks,” said Vanth drily, but he was smiling when Din glanced at him, and then the door closed between them again. 

Din looked down at the kid in his arms. Got another tug on his hair. 

He smiled. 

Sure was a cute kid. 

The shower turned on, and under it Din could hear Vanth humming, some familiar tune that he couldn’t quite recall the words for. The child babbled, and Din smoothed back the curly hair on his head, wishing he had a brush for the kid. 

“I’ll get you a real brush when we get to Peli’s,” he said softly, and let the kid grab his hand. “See if we can get you a few more things. A proper coat, too.” 

And a new birth certificate, and IDs for himself, and whatever other documentation they might need to start a new life. 

The kid patted at Din’s fingers, finally settling on his thumb as the choice one to grip, and smiled widely up at Din. 

Always so  _ trusting. _

The kid had been fussy a few times, but Din hadn’t expected a baby to be so well  _ behaved. _ Messy, sure. Loud, absolutely, at times. All kids were. 

He hadn’t expected this one to be so  _ calm _ about being whisked off by a stranger in the dead of night, though. 

Then again, the kid had been calm enough through the entire fiasco that had been a drug deal gone wrong — the shouting, the gunshots, the screams, none of it had fazed him in the slightest. Not when Din had found him, still tucked into the carrier with an overnight bag next to it, rescue for him no longer an option. 

Din couldn’t have just  _ left _ him there. 

Just had to get the kid to Peli’s, and she’d help him find the kid a home. 

“A good home,” said Din, wagging his hand gently, and the kid stubbornly held on, using his other hand to grab Din’s index finger as well. “Parents who will take good care of you, make sure you never want for anything.” He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his kid’s head, and got a giggle for his troubles. “No one will ever try to hurt you again.” 

Din didn’t regret taking the kid. He knew what would’ve happened to him if he hadn’t, knew that whatever fate the others had laughed over for the kid’s parents was one the child was sure to follow them to, and he couldn’t let that happen. 

He  _ couldn’t. _

“I’ve got you, kid,” he whispered. “For just a while. But until we find you somewhere safe, I’ve got you.” And he huffed a laugh. “You ever gonna let go of that finger, kid?” 

The child looked up at him. 

Didn’t let go. 

“No?” said Din, shaking his hand gently in the kid’s grasp, and the kid laughed. 

“No!” said the kid, and giggled. “No, no!” 

Well, it figured that would be the kid’s first word. 

Better than— 

_ “Dammit,” _ came Vanth’s voice from the bathroom, and the door swung open as he walked out in a cloud of steam — at least Din had left him some hot water, then. “Forgot my clothes, too.” 

Din couldn’t open his mouth to respond — if he did, he was afraid it might just hang open like a fish. The kid finally let go of his hand in favor of waving both arms toward Vanth, who grinned and waved back. 

Vanth was only wearing a  _ towel, _ and while that had been Din not even an hour previous, he hadn’t expected the other man to do the same, giving him an unobstructed view of quite a lot of tanned skin on the man’s lithe body, scattered with freckles and scars. 

Din swallowed hard. Cleared his throat. “Vanth,” he said, and pretended his voice didn’t croak a bit when he said the other man’s name. 

“Hmm?” Vanth paused by his bag, raising an eyebrow. “Need somethin’?” 

His drawl was more pronounced, this late in the evening. 

“What— were you doing. Earlier. With the kid.” 

“Oh,” said Vanth. “We were  _ reading. _ Weren’t we, kid?” The kid babbled, patting at Din’s arm. “Yeah, that’s right,” said Vanth to the kid, and grinned at Din before he crouched to poke around in his bag. 

“Why…?” 

“Kids like to be read to,” said Vanth, and Din tried not to stare at the long expanse of bared skin of his back, at the towel clinging valiantly to the silver-haired man’s hips. “Don’t matter too much at that age  _ what _ you’re readin’, just good for them to hear your voice.” Then he was walking toward Din, and that towel for  _ sure _ was defying gravity to cling to those hips, to the soft dusting of hair leading down his navel. “Here.” 

_ “‘Rivers of London,’” _ said Din, reading the title, and glanced up at Vanth, who was already heading back to the bathroom, bundle of clothes tucked under his arm. “Is it— uh. Kid friendly.” 

“Haven’t finished it yet, so don’t quite rightly know,” said Vanth, raising a hand to point at Din. “Don’t lose my place.” And he stepped back into the bathroom, the door swinging almost shut, a thin line of brighter light still spilling out through the crack. 

Not before Din caught a glimpse of a tattoo on the back of Vanth’s neck — a five-pointed star in thin, overlapping lines, something small and dark at the center, with droplets of red ink dripping down from the lowest points to his spine. 

Din shook his head, looking down at the book in his hand, finding a worn, creased piece of paper about one hundred pages in. He heard Cobb humming softly behind the closed door, and he looked down at the kid. “You like books?” he said, and the kid patted at the pages, crumpling the edge of one, and Din carefully smoothed it out. 

He’d never been read to as a child. Or if he had, he’d long since forgotten. 

“There anything in there you want washed?” said Vanth, swinging the door to the bathroom open again, and Din blinked at him. The man wasn’t wearing a  _ shirt, _ just held up a little bottle of soap. At least he’d replaced the towel with some pants. “Gonna do some laundry so it’ll have a chance to dry while we sleep.” 

“They have laundry facilities here?” 

Vanth grinned. “They’ve got a sink. Ain’t that the same thing? Lost my key to break into those washing machines, anyway.” He tossed the bottle up into the air, catching it easily. “So, Djarin. Any takers?” 

Din looked at the child wriggling in his towel cocoon, and glanced at Vanth. “The kid’s out of clean clothes,” he said. “Can I— use some of your soap…?” 

“Eh, just toss em over,” said Vanth. “Won’t take me long if I do all of them at once.” He had his bag, which presumably had clothes in it, and he leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom while Din went through the duffel bag and picked out the kid’s clothes — hardly anything at all.  _ Din _ had more clothes than the kid, and he didn’t have much, either. 

Definitely would be a first stop once they got to Peli’s. 

“Thank you,” he said, handing the bundle of clothes to Vanth. “I— thank you. He’ll appreciate it.  _ I _ appreciate it.” 

Vanth  _ winked _ at him. “Bet he will.” And he was back to the bathroom sink, humming that same tune from earlier, gentle sounds of splashing letting Din know he was busy. 

Din, who sat down on the bed with the kid again, picking up Vanth’s book. 

_ “Rivers of London,” _ he said, and the kid perked up, pausing in his quest to entangle himself in his towel long enough for Din to get him settled on his lap. “You mind if we start from the beginning, kid? I haven’t read it.” 

He opened the book, flipping past the front matter to get to the first chapter. Traced the title words with his finger, wondering when the last time he’d sat down to just  _ read _ a book had been. 

A month? A  _ year? _

He couldn’t even picture the cover of the last book he’d read, let alone the contents. 

Too much had happened since then. 

Din took a deep breath, and cradled the kid close, tilting the book so he could see. “Okay, kid, here we go.” 

And he read. 

Not for long, maybe fifteen minutes. Just enough to notice that his throat was getting dry, for him to pause a moment to wonder if drinking the tap water from the sink would be potable. 

A muffled noise came from the bathroom, and Din sat up a bit, frowning, hand sliding toward his empty belt, until he heard Vanth huff a laugh. A moment later, he heard the familiar hum of a hair dryer. 

Huh. 

The bathroom door swung open, and Vanth stepped out, wearing pants this time but  _ still _ without a shirt, and he was holding something soft and green in his hands, grinning. “Here,” he said, holding it out to Din. “Washed  _ and _ dried, for his highness.” 

Din hesitantly took the offered item, and unfolded the floppy-eared pyjamas that the kid had been so interested in at the store. The fabric was still warm from the hair dryer, or Vanth’s hand, he wasn’t sure which. 

He hadn’t seen them in Vanth’s basket at the store, but then again, he  _ had _ been rather preoccupied at the time. 

The child babbled, reaching for the pyjamas, and Din let him grab at it with his chubby little hands. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and he couldn’t look at Vanth — he knew if he did, the burning in his eyes might spill over into tears, because the child was  _ smiling, _ flopping the pyjamas up and down with excitement. “I- I can pay you back for it—” 

“No need,” said Vanth, “it’s a gift.” Din heard the soft footsteps as he made his way back into the bathroom. “Not gonna bother drying the rest of these, it’s too noisy, if the sprout’s okay with wearing that one for now.” 

“What do you think, kid?” said Din, and those liquid dark eyes blinked trustingly up at him. “Wanna give them a shot?” 

The kid, freshly clothed in his new pyjamas, was  _ very _ happy to crawl around on the mountains of the plush comforter on the bed that had been pushed around, stopping to lay on his belly and tug one of the soft green ears into his mouth to chew on. 

“Guess he likes it,” said Vanth cheerfully, returning from the bathroom,  _ finally _ clothed in a soft red shirt to cover all that bare skin. “Really suits you, huh, Isaiah?” 

The kid’s head jerked up, the hood of the pyjamas sliding down a bit as the ear slipped from his open mouth, eyes wide. Din’s head jerked around, staring at the silver-haired man, who held up the tiny shirts and things Din had given him to have washed, the fabric of them still visibly damp as he draped them over the back of the chairs at the table to dry. 

“Had his name written on some of the tags,” said Vanth, perfectly level, as if Din’s heart was racing right up into his throat. 

Din looked at the kid again. “Isaiah,” he said, and the kid’s eyes snapped to him, arms out to be picked up, and he couldn’t deny him, lifting the child up to his chest and gently tugging the hood back up over the kid’s curly hair. 

_ Isaiah. _

The kid had a  _ name. _

“Isaiah,” he said again, and a soft laugh bubbled out of him when the kid looked up at him again, smiling a gummy smile. “I didn’t even think of that.” 

“Had to write our names on the tags of anythin’ we didn’t want snatched by the other kids,” said Vanth, wiping his hands on his pants and leaving damp streaks before running a hand through his hair. “How’s the book?” 

Din looked down at the book in his hands. He didn’t really remember what he’d read. “It’s alright,” he said, and offered it back — Vanth set it on the bedside table separating their beds, and sat down on his own bed with a low groan. “Going to sleep?” 

“Might be,” said Vanth, offering a faint smile. “Don’t you mind, I can sleep with the lights on.” 

“No, it’s— nearly the kid’s bedtime, anyway,” said Din. It was  _ past _ the kid’s bedtime, really — the sort-of sometimes bedtime that Din had tried to get the kid to stick to. He seemed to remember something about kids needing structure to their days. “It’s been a long day.”

“Lotta road covered, huh?” 

“Yeah.” Din smoothed out the comforter on the bed, settling the kid near the middle, and moved to the lights. “Get the lamp?” 

“Sure.” Vanth leaned over to flip the switch on the lamp on the bedside table, a soft yellow light taking the place of the more severe overhead light as Din turned that off. “Good night, Djarin. You too, beansprout.” 

Din settled onto the bed next to Isaiah, putting his body between the kid and the door. Not that he expected trouble, but— just in case. “You can turn it off now,” he said, resting a hand gently on the child’s belly, watching him yawn, seeing Vanth yawn as well on the other bed beyond him. The silver-haired man reached over and smacked the light switch again, and the room was dark. “Good night,” whispered Din. 

“G’night,” mumbled Vanth, and in moments all Din could hear were his soft slow breaths and the smaller ones of Isaiah, beside him. 

The bed under him felt a lot more comfortable than the seats in his car, that was for sure. 

Din barely felt like he had closed his eyes before he was opening them again, little baby hands patting at his face. It was still dark in the room, the clock telling him it had only been five hours since he’d gone to sleep. 

“You hungry, kid?” he said, keeping his voice low, aware of Vanth breathing slow and deep in the other bed. More insistent patting to his face, little hands finding the scratchy patches of beard he hadn’t had time to shave in a couple days. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

He rolled himself out of bed, stretching a bit and finding himself much less stiff than another night curled up in his car, and gathered up the kid and his backpack, carrying both into the bathroom and closing the door quietly, wincing at how loud the latch sounded in the silence. 

“Let him sleep,” he said, and the kid —  _ Isaiah, _ it was so odd to him to remember, startled, that he knew the kid’s  _ name _ now — sighed a very big sigh for a child. Isaiah sat patiently on Din’s lap until Din got out a spoon and some of the oats, and then the usual battle of getting the food into the kid’s mouth instead of everywhere else began. 

A rap on the bathroom door startled him, and Din nearly dropped the spoon onto the floor. As it was, a glob of oatmeal ended up there, anyway. “Hey,” came Vanth’s voice from the other side of the door, sleepy and warm. “You almost done in there?” 

“Yes,” said Din, and used one of the washcloths to wipe away the mess on the kid’s —  _ Isaiah’s _ — face. “Wanna finish this in the other room, kid?” 

Isaiah reached for the spoon, so he figured that was a yes. 

Vanth was gazing off at the wall, his hair sticking up in a pouffy, wild mess, and Din wanted to reach out and smooth it — he didn’t, his hands were full of the child, and he wouldn’t touch Vanth anyway. he smiled when he looked at Din, though, and leaned in to greet the kid. “Good morning,” said Vanth, and Isaiah — who apparently had no such hang-ups like Din — reached out and patted his oatmealy hand on Vanth’s cheek. 

“Sorry,” said Din, pulling the kid out of arm’s reach of Vanth’s beard a little too late, and Vanth just shrugged with a sleepy grin and stepped into the vacated bathroom, pushing the door shut behind him. “We woke him up.” 

“Didn’t,” called Vanth from inside the bathroom, and Din swallowed a laugh, taking Isaiah to the table so they could finish up with his breakfast. “Clothes should be dry, by the way.” 

Din looked at the mess Isaiah had collected on his new pyjamas, and looked at the clothes Vanth had left draped over the backs of the chairs to dry the previous night. “He has a point,” he said to the kid. Isaiah babbled back at him, seemingly content with his oatmeal-and-pyjamas look, and Din found himself smiling again. 

He had the kid in a green shirt with a cartoon crocodile on it and soft little denim pants by the time Vanth reappeared from the bathroom, looking a little more awake and with his hair brushed into a neater sweep and his red scarf back around his neck. 

“Morning,” said Din, realising he hadn’t returned the silver-haired man’s earlier greeting, and Vanth smiled at him. “Sorry for the early start.” 

“No need,” said Vanth, dropping his bag beside Din’s duffel on the floor. “Early riser anyway. You hopin’ to get a headstart this morning before the traffic hits?” 

“Yeah,” said Din, although he hadn’t really thought of that. It  _ would _ be sensible to get going before the busier hours on the road slowed them down. “If that’s alright with you.” 

“I ain’t picky. Want me to go see if the front desk is open so we can check out?” 

Din blinked. “Sure.” Vanth had his boots on and was out the door within a minute, pausing only to wave to the kid before the door clicked shut again. 

Isaiah patted Din’s arm. “Ub,” he said, insistently.  _ “Ub.” _

“Yes, up,” said Din, and picked up the kid, who seemed rather satisfied to have his request followed. “You ready to get back in the car? Road trip a bit more? We might be able to make it to Peli’s  _ tonight, _ if we’re leaving this early.” 

He placed a kiss on top of the kid’s head, rocking him in place. Looked around the hotel room, which felt empty without Vanth there.

By tonight, they could be at Peli’s. 

By tomorrow… 

The door opened again, and Vanth strode in, shutting it quickly.  _ “Fuck, _ it’s cold,” said Vanth, sucking in a breath between his teeth, and moved past Din to shoulder the duffel bag, holding out the jacket —  _ that jacket _ — to Din. “You might want this. Does Isaiah have one?” 

Din couldn’t lift his arm. Couldn’t open his hand to take it. He just shook his head, wordlessly, and Vanth shrugged, tugging the jacket on himself. It was too big on him, his shoulders not as broad as Din’s, the streaks of bloodstains still visible on the embroidered insignia on the back. 

For a moment, the first hints of dawn light settling over his fluttering hair, Vanth looked like he could’ve been someone Din had rode shoulder to shoulder with, once upon a time. 

Then he turned, smiling that warm smile, and the moment was gone. “Hope you don’t mind,” he said, and Din just shook his head, wordless. “We should find somewhere to pick up a jacket for the sprout, though. Gettin’ too cold to go without.” 

Vanth lifted the trunk open, hefting up Din’s duffel bag, and Din’s breath froze in his throat — he opened the driver’s side door, just so he wouldn’t see.Vanth rustle around through the guns and tools, shuffling them out of the way so he could set the bag down. 

Once again, he’d been careless, and now he was frozen there in the parking lot, half in his car with no reason for being there.

Surely Vanth must have seen—

_ All that dried blood— _

Din took a breath, leaned on the door for a moment, and slammed it shut, hearing the  _ click _ of the lock too late. 

_ Shit. _

“Shit,” said Vanth, heedlessly echoing Din, tugging uselessly at the car door, and grimaced at Din. “It’s locked. You got the keys?” 

Din patted his pockets, shifting his grip on Isaiah. 

No keys. 

“Must’ve left ‘em inside,” said Vanth with a sigh, and smiled, leaning in to chuck Isaiah gently under the chin. “Too distracted by a cute face, huh, beansprout?” 

Din couldn’t breathe for a moment. “Here,” he said, and stepped closer to Vanth, transferring the kid to the other man’s arms. “I’ll get them.” 

He spun on his heel and made for the motel room before Vanth had a chance to reply. 

At least the keys were easy enough to find — still set on the table, where they’d been tossed. Din picked them up, gripping hard enough that the skull keychain and the teeth of the keys dug into his palm, and tried to steady his breathing. 

Talk about a distraction.  _ Vanth _ was a distraction. Din shouldn’t have gone back to pick up the hitchhiker, he should’ve just kept driving. Made his own way, slept on the side of the road somewhere in the back of the car with his sweater up around his ears. 

Not have someone  _ rifling through the trunk of his car _ and seeing all the remnants of his not so distant past laid out like a goddamn  _ display. _

He was pacing across the room, back and forth enough that he was likely to wear a trail into the thin carpet in minutes, and he cursed himself for not thinking this through beforehand. Sure, the façade of two men and a baby in a car was an added insurance not to be spotted, but the  _ other _ man was a complete stranger, who Din couldn’t really trust, could he? 

He couldn’t trust anyone. 

He had the fading bruises to prove it. 

Din ran a hand through his hair, peeling his fingers from the keys with a wince, and pried the chain and skull from the loop of the keyring, hurling its silvery little form into the far corner of the room. It bounced off of the wall, skittering under the bed out of sight, and Din sighed. 

He should leave Vanth at the next place they stopped. Get himself to Peli’s, get the kid safe. Forget he’d ever met either of them. Every minute he was wasting was another minute he could be on the road, headed far, far away from his old life, and he could hear the traffic picking up outside even at that early of an hour in the morning. 

The traffic… 

Din frowned. The motel wasn’t so close to the road that it had been  _ that _ much of a bother with the traffic noises in the night, but the rumble of engines was loud, and close. 

_ Familiar _ engines. 

And a muffled shout, startled and pained, and another voice, laughing, as one by one the engines cut off. 

“Fuck,” whispered Din, and bolted from the motel room. 

He hit the pavement running, and he saw the bikes, first. Sleek motorcycles, Harleys and a single Yamaha, and the truck. 

He saw the jackets, the familiar shape of a creature’s skull, long toothed and horned, pale and gleaming white where the light from the streetlamps struck them. The same symbol that matched the back of his own jacket, the one he hadn’t dumped with his bike, like an idiot. 

The one Vanth was wearing. 

_ Shit. _

Din strode forward, hands curling into fists at his sides. He didn’t recognise any of their faces, but he’d known there were other branches of their  _ club, _ small ones. 

He sure as hell hadn’t thought he’d cross paths with any of them, or that they’d be sent for him. 

But of course they had been. 

Of course they had. 

Din had been a fool to think otherwise. 

A tall man, taller than Din, with shoulders wider than his, had Vanth by the hair, his other hand raising before swiftly delivering a punch to the silver-haired man’s middle, and Vanth let out a grunt of pain, struggling weakly. 

“There he is,” said one of the others, impassionate face turned toward Din. 

Din stopped. 

The man holding Vanth  _ smiled. _ Toothy and wide, like a shark. “Oh, shit, man,” drawled the man, letting go of his grip on Vanth’s hair, and the silver-haired man crumpled to the ground. 

Coughed, spitting blood onto the pavement. Didn’t look at Din. 

“Guess we got the wrong guy, huh,” said the tall man.” Our bad, son.” He wiped his bloody hands on the back of the jacket, smearing dark across the pale symbol stitched there. He didn’t  _ sound _ apologetic in the slightest. “Don’t worry, Djarin, we’ve plenty left saved for you.” 

One of the other men struck out with his boot, and they laughed as Vanth groaned, curling in on himself from the kick to the belly. 

They  _ laughed. _

And there was more blood on the ground.

The keys in Din’s hands bit hard, and he dropped them. Didn’t hear them land. 

Didn’t need them, just then. 

Din took a breath, and turned his body, making himself as small a target as possible, and by the time his feet had settled in the dirt he had his gun in his hand, lifted from where it had rested at the small of his back. 

He got off two shots — shoulder to the tall fellow, chest of the one who had clocked him — before the assailants caught on and dove for cover, and their own weapons. Another two shots and a gliding series of steps to the side, and Din popped the trunk of his car, hearing a bullet slam into it and feeling the vibration of the hit through his hand, and he dropped the pistol — magazine was empty, anyway — and lifted out the sawed-off instead. 

He only had to fire it once to scatter the remaining three, and he stalked forward, getting himself between Vanth and the men, who were hastily hauling their wounded cohorts with them. 

“Leave us alone,” said Din, his voice quieter than he’d intended, but apparently it carried well enough across the lot, because the man who had beaten Vanth sneered at him, clutching his shoulder, and gestured for the others to leave, scurrying back to their bikes and the truck. One of the bikes was abandoned, its rider incapacitated, and Din waited for the taillights to fade into the dark before lowering the shotgun and scrambling down to his knees, gravel biting into his knees through his pants. “Vanth.  _ Vanth.” _

The silver-haired man groaned, head lolling away from Din’s touch. There was blood everywhere, slick and dark, and Din couldn’t tell where it was coming from, or how bad it was. 

“Vanth,” he said again, dropping the shotgun to the ground and cradling Vanth’s head in his hands. “Vanth, wake up.” 

Eyes he knew to be hazel were dark as jet in the shadows, fluttering open with far too much slowness. “Heyyy,” slurred Vanth, and that was fresh blood on his lips when he coughed, groaning, trying to push himself up, and Din tried to help him, not wanting to cause more pain but unsure where he might be hurt. “Fuck.”

“What happened,” said Din, and that vise was iron around his chest again, constricting tighter with every strangled breath. “How did they—  _ what happened.” _

Then it clicked, as Vanth wrapped an arm around his middle, shoulders hunched as he breathed through gritted teeth, that they were alone. 

“Where’s—” Din couldn’t even finish the question, and Vanth lifted his head a bit, face in shadow. 

“Th’ car,” he slurred, nodding toward the vehicle in question, and shoved weakly at Din’s arm with his free hand. His fingers left blood on the fabric. “In th’ back.” 

Din took another breath when his hand closed on the door handle to the back of the car, and yanked on it frustratedly until he thought to run back and grab his keys and jam the right one into the lock, tugging the door open, keys in the lock be damned. 

There was the kid, looking up at him bewilderedly from the floor, half buried under Din’s sweater. 

“Kid,” he whispered, carefully lifting Isaiah into his arms and cuddling him close, realising belatedly that he had Vanth’s blood on his hands, which was now smeared over the car door, and on the kid’s clothes. Shit. 

_ Vanth. _

There was a soft  _ thud  _ from behind him, and Din turned. 

Vanth’s silver hair was ruffled gently by the cool morning air, but that was the only part of him that was moving. 

_ Shit. _

There was a pulse at his throat when Din pressed his hand there, breath stirring in Vanth’s chest, but he didn’t respond when Din said his name. Said it again, louder, with more panic in his voice than he’d thought. 

Isaiah whimpered, and Din sat back, the cold from the earth seeping through his pants. “Vanth was right,” he said quietly, and got his feet back under him again. “You need a jacket.”

He couldn’t move Vanth with his hands full of the kid, so he took the kid inside the motel room. Got him swaddled in a towel, tucked into his backpack on top of his clothes, tugging the zipper up a bit to keep him in place — if he rolled himself out, at least it wasn’t as far a drop to the floor as it was from the bed — and went back to the parking lot. 

Din had picked up a lot of bodies in his days, although most of them hadn’t been coughing blood down his back when he slung them over his shoulder. 

He hadn’t been too worried, then, whether they were still breathing when he laid them down again, hadn’t checked for a heartbeat again after laying them out on a motel bed as he did for Vanth. 

Isaiah babbled from the backpack, having freed one chubby hand and working on freeing the other, and Din stared at him for a long moment, uncomprehending. 

He needed to— 

_ —do _ something. 

For one, frighteningly long moment, Din’s head felt void of all recognisable thought. 

Then he looked down at Vanth, felt the rattling breath in his chest under his hand, and left him laying on the hotel bed and went to the table, where the phone was.

He picked it up.

Hesitated.

Fished a scrap of paper from his wallet, carefully unfolding the thin creases, and dialed.

_ "Who's this?"  _ snapped a harsh voice, and Din took in a shaky breath.

"It's me," he said.

_ "Thought I told you not to call unless it's an emergency."  _ A pause, and Din couldn't breathe again.  _ "Is this an emergency?" _

"Yeah," said Din. "Um. I need— a clinic. Somewhere that won't ask questions. Tonight."

Another long pause.  _ "You hurt? The kid?" _

"No, my—" Din swallowed thickly. "My friend. He's hurt, bad. Please."

_ "Hmph,"  _ said Peli, glorious Peli, and she sighed.  _ "Where are you?" _

Din gave her the name of the town, and in less than a minute she gave him an address. "Thank you," he said, and she sniffed.

_ "I'm adding it on to your bill,"  _ she said, but he was pretty sure he could hear her smiling.  _ "Tell them who sent you, they won't give you a hard time. Are you safe?" _

Din laughed, but it caught in his throat, and he choked. "No," he said, "but we will be. Thank you."

_ "Get your ass here soon, then."  _ And she hung up, the dial tone loud in his ear.

Din set down the phone, and started gathering up their stuff. 

His backpack. Vanth's, too. The clean laundry, which Din hurriedly stuffed into Vanth’s bag, since it had space, not bothering to sort or fold it — he could do that when they got to Peli's.

Once they were out of there.

Once they were safe.

The sky was brightening when Din hauled the semiconscious Vanth out to the car, buckling him into the passenger seat, and made sure the kid was secure in his booster seat before guiding the car out of the parking lot, leaving the blood and the spent bullet casings behind.

Wasn't anything he could do about that now.

The address Peli had given to him led to a dingy looking building, white paneling and blinds on the windows, but there was a light on inside, and a dark-haired woman opened the door when he knocked.

"Peli sent me," he said, and the woman's eyes widened. "Please, my friend— he needs help."

She helped him carry Vanth inside, stronger than her willowy form belied. Another woman came to help her, and they whisked Vanth away beyond the swinging doors, leaving Din alone in the lobby with Isaiah.

There was still blood on his hands, starting to crack where it had dried, and there were dark stains on the kid's shirt. Din pressed a kiss to Isaiah's head, who just tucked himself against Din's shoulder with quite a hefty sigh for so small a human.

He should leave. 

He should take the kid and leave. Get all of Vanth’s things from his car and leave them for him, and just— 

—go. 

Before he got Vanth hurt again. 

Before he got him  _ killed. _

Din looked around the lobby. There was no one there, no security cameras that he could see. He could just walk out the door, and no one would be the wiser until later. 

So he did. 

He walked out the door. 

Got to his car, setting the kid on his sweater — there was already blood on it, a few more stains weren’t going to matter — and used the last of his baby wipes to gently dab the crusted blood from the kid’s skin. Got Isaiah out of the clothes that had been clean — had it really been an hour ago? — and back into the long-eared pyjamas, brushing off a little bit of dried oatmeal. 

Clean enough. 

He could get the kid strapped back into the car seat. Could get his keys from his pocket and drive them away from there. 

He could do it. 

Vanth would be better off if he did. 

“What do you think, kid?” he said lowly, tugging the hood of the pyjamas more securely up onto the kid’s head. “You think he’d be safer without us, right?” 

“No!” said Isaiah cheerfully, and Din sighed. 

“Is that the only word you know?” 

“No!” 

“Thought so,” muttered Din, and cuddled Isaiah close, smiling a little into the hood of his pyjamas. “He got hurt because of me, though. I— that’s  _ wrong. _ He wasn’t involved in this. He shouldn’t have been the one who got hurt.” 

Din should’ve  _ been _ there. 

If he hadn’t locked the doors by accident— 

If he hadn’t forgotten the  _ keys—  _

Fuck, if Vanth hadn’t gotten the kid into the car and something had happened to Isaiah— 

Din took a shuddering breath, opening eyes he hadn’t realised he’d closed. “I’ve got you, kid,” he whispered. “I won’t let that happen again. I promise.” Isaiah cooed in his arms, mouthing at one of the pyjama ears, and Din looked across the street. 

There was a church there, one of those small ones with faded white walls and a slender steeple, what looked to be little more than the chapel itself. The message board letters were a little crooked, but Din could still read the words. 

_ Do not fear, for I am with you. — Isaiah 41:10. _

Din read it, and read it again. 

Looked down at the kid in his arms, with the same name. The one Din hadn’t been able to leave behind, the one  _ Vanth _ had kept safe for him. 

“We can’t just leave him, can we,” he said softly. 

“No,” said Isaiah, and then a string of babbled nonsense that Din couldn’t parse, but he understood the feeling behind it. 

Or he was projecting, which was more likely, but either way—

Din locked the car, and went back inside. 

And he waited.

He was alone with the kid in that lobby for what felt like an eternity, but what the clock ticking doggedly on the wall told him was only just over an hour at all before the woman who’d met him at the door came back, and by then Isaiah was half asleep against his shoulder. 

“Is he—” started Din, then broke off when the woman smiled at him. “He’s alright?” 

“He’ll be alright,” she assured him, and for a moment Din thought his knees were going to give out. “Nothing a bit of rest won’t heal, in time.” 

“Thank you,” he said, far more fervently than he’d intended, but the woman just smiled and patted his arm. 

“It’s what we do here,” she said. “Peli said to tell you it’s on her tab, and not to worry.” She wiggled her fingers in greeting to Isaiah, who reached for her, and she politely shook his hand when he grabbed her finger. “You can see him, if you like.” 

“I— if that’s alright?” 

“Of course,” she said with a nod, gently freeing her finger from Isaiah’s grasp. “Come with me.” 

“Thank you,” he said again, following her through the door and down a hallway. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” 

“Omera,” she said, rapped on the door to a room before opening it. “Mind you keep him resting until the IV is done.” She gestured into the room, but turned away as Din took a hesitant step inside. 

The room held two beds, curtains drawn over a wide window, and only a dim lamp lit beside one of the beds. The only difference between that room and the motel room they’d just left was the lack of table to go with the chair next to the bed, and the pristine linoleum floor. 

And there was Vanth, stretched out on the one occupied bed, eyes closed and shirtless, butterfly bandages on his wounds and a nasty-looking bruise spreading purple across his abdomen and side. His shirt and the jacket were draped over the back of the chair, where Din gingerly took a seat, inching the chair closer to the bed. 

Vanth breathed in deep, eyelashes fluttering for a moment before he opened his eyes enough to squint at Din and the child in his arms. 

And he  _ smiled, _ wide enough for the bandage near his lip to pull. “Hey, beansprout, lookin’ good,” he said, his voice rough. “You alright, Djarin? You’re lookin’ a little rough.” 

“You’re one to talk,” said Din, and realised he was smiling right back at the silver-haired man. “How are you feeling?” 

Vanth huffed a laugh. “Ain’t so bad,” he said, lifting one shoulder in a slight shrug. “Wasn’t how I was planning on starting my morning, is all. You alright?” 

“I’m not hurt,” said Din, and Vanth raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m  _ fine. _ I—  _ you _ were the one who got kicked to shit, Vanth.” He had to look away from Vanth’s gaze. Took a breath. “You— kept him safe. I can’t thank you enough for that.” 

“Funny thing, that,” said Vanth drily, “I didn’t realise the  _ he _ they were lookin’ for was the kid until they called me  _ your _ name. Guess they thought I was you.” 

“The jacket,” said Din numbly. “I’m sorry, I— I didn’t think they’d find me here, I didn’t think—” 

“Djarin.” 

Din swallowed hard, looking back to Vanth. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“My own fault for lettin’ them get the jump on me,” said Vanth, pushing himself up on his elbows with a grunt, and Din frowned, shifting Isaiah to one arm so he could reach out and grab Vanth’s arm. The other man stilled, blinking slowly at him. “Djarin…?” 

“You need to rest,” said Din, and Vanth shook his head. “You’re  _ hurt, _ Vanth.” 

“Can’t stick around here, can we?” he said with a slight smile. “In case that lot come looking for you again.” 

“You need to rest,” said Din, trying to keep his voice firm. Hard to do when moving his chin up to avoid getting a slobbery pyjama hood ear in his face as the kid wiggled in his hold. “Omera said you needed to finish that IV.” 

Vanth glanced at the pole, at the tube leading down to his hand. “It’s nearly finished, anyway,” he said, and added, grimly, “and you aren’t the only one there might be people on the lookout for.”

“Shit,” said Din softly, and reluctantly let go of Vanth’s arm as the other man carefully sat up the rest of the way. The silver-haired man’s face was pale, but he looked less like death warmed over with the blood cleaned from his face. “Can you walk?” 

“I’ll manage. Pass me the shirt?” Din passed him the shirt, and the scarf he found tucked under it, and by then Vanth had carefully removed the needle from his hand. “Thank you.” 

“You sure you’ll be alright?” 

Vanth grinned at him, rolling his shirt up over his arms before pulling it down over his head, jaw tight when his face came back into view. But he smiled when Isaiah reached for him, bumping his hand gently to the kid’s before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Long as we aren’t running any marathons or nothin’.” 

Din stood, settling Isaiah on his hip and offering Vanth his free hand, pulling him up to his feet when he took it. Vanth’s hand was warm, and he leaned against Din for a moment, steadying himself before he let go. “You want the jacket on?” 

“Am I gonna get beat up for wearing it this time?” drawled Vanth, lips curved in a smile when Din glanced at him hurriedly. “I’ve got you to protect me, this time.” 

“You do,” said Din, the words escaping him before he thought it through, but Vanth’s warm smile was worth it. He handed him the jacket, and tried not to watch how stiffly Vanth moved as he pulled it on again. 

“All set to leave?” 

Din turned, Isaiah gasping at the sudden movement, but it was just Omera at the door, a small paper bag in her hand. “Yes,” said Din, belatedly, and glanced at Vanth. “Thank you for everything, Omera.” 

“Thank Peli, she’s the one who vouched for you,” said Omera cheerfully, and handed Vanth the paper bag. “Try and take these with food, if you can.” 

“Thank you,” said Vanth. Painkillers, Din would guess. “You’ve been more than kind.” 

“This is the way,” she said, squeezing his hand gently, and nodded to Din. “Do try to keep out of trouble this time.” 

“No promises,” said Vanth, and she laughed, leading them back out to the lobby. There was another fellow there, cradling a bandaged hand to his chest, and Omera left them to see to him — Din guided Vanth by the elbow out the door and back to where he’d parked the car. 

And if he kept an eye on anyone who was out on the streets at that hour of the morning who so much as glanced in their direction, that was  _ Din’s _ business. 

He felt a lot better once they were back on the highway, the wheel under his hands and Vanth settled in the passenger seat, whose long legs were pressing against the dashboard with how low he was slouching, and Isaiah buckled safely into his car seat. All of them, safe and sound, driving away from the people who’d hurt them. 

“I’m going to see a— friend of mine,” said Din abruptly, and Vanth was watching him with a calm gaze when Din glanced at him. “Those bikers— the ones who hurt you— she— she’s going to help me hide from them. Make new identities, for me and the kid. And she could help you, too. If you want.” 

Vanth was silent, and Din risked glancing at him again, fidgeting with the gear shift. 

Maybe Vanth wouldn’t want anything to do with him, after all this. 

Maybe he—

Vanth’s hand closed over Din’s, warm and calloused. “Thank you, Djarin,” he said. 

“Din.” Din glanced at him again, tentatively curling his fingers around Vanth’s hand. “My name is Din Djarin.” 

“Din,” said Vanth warmly, and he squeezed his hand, gently. “My name is Cobb Vanth.” 

He didn’t let go of Din’s hand, so Din didn’t let go either, just kept driving, guiding the car ever westward, and smiled when Vanth finally leaned over with a groan to flip on the radio, spinning the dial until it was tuned to something he liked. 

Isaiah shrieked with delight as Queen began to play over the car’s sound system, and Vanth hummed along, stroking his thumb slowly over Din’s hand. There was still a lot of road between them and Peli’s, but it didn’t feel so empty, now. 

And whatever came after— 

—Din had a feeling they’d be able to handle it. 

Together. 


End file.
